


Hide and Seek

by JoAsakura



Category: Thundercats
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:12:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/pseuds/JoAsakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>from the vaults, 2001. Relevant again since the new (and AWESOME, i must say) Thundercats just started airing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hide and Seek

His breath was coming in short, burning gasps, even as his paws thudded in near-silent rhythm on the forest floor.  
   
The pursuer, the one he'd made this insane deal with, could be anywhere, watching even now.  Bengali made a strangled little sound and threw himself against the waterfall washing down from a spring somewhere higher up in deep woods.  
   
The dappled play of leaf-filtered sunlight through the splashing water mottled the blue-grey stripes on his fur.  Thousands of years ago, it would've been a fine ploy to shake a predator, his scent lost in the running water, his shape indistinct to a hunter's eyes.  
   
But that would've been thousands of years ago, and the predator his lower brain was counseling him against was long since extinct.  His current pursuer was infinitely more sophisticated, far more dedicated to his capture, and not exactly known for poor vision.  
   
(Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid!)  Over the trickle and splash of the water, he couldn't tell if he heard the unhurried footsteps of his relentless shadow.  He could still hear the mellow voice chuckling along the edge of his ear like a tongue. "A half an hour head start. I think that's more than generous, don't you?"  
   
(Generous.)  Bengali snorted, slipping out from the waterfall in a silvered blur of motion, droplets sparkling off downy fur as he continued to flee. (I could return to Cat's Lair.. he'd never confront me there…)  But how could he let the others know? Even if he didn't say anything, the young Lord would know with his sight beyond sight..  The blacksmith let out a half-realized mew, before he stumbled, tumbling into the leafy underbrush.  
   
(Distractions! Stupid!!) Bengali picked himself up. (think like a Thundercat, not some frightened Snarf!! You're a Maker, Bengali.. make something to save yourself!)  He looked around, taking stock of the situation, ears twitching at the slightest crumple of leaf.  (If only I had my hammer….) but he didn't.  His pursuer had taken it, and Bengali had let him, in some arrogant kitten's display of temper.  
   
Vines. Branches. Leaves. The natural resources of a hunter.  Even if he wasn't really a hunter, just a craftsman out of his element.  Nimble claws worked quickly, shredding bark and vine to create a snare.  Bengali shuffled leaves over it, still straining to hear the slightest difference in the surrounding forest. (Maybe he's given up?)  the hopeful thought surged.  
   
"Come out, come out wherever you are."  The soft voice called through the trees, and Bengali wheeled with a startled hiss, kitten-blue eyes widening.  He couldn't see him, but the voice was close, so close.  He sniffed, but his nose was filled only with the scent of moss and earth.  
   
He ran again, hearing the snare trip behind him.  "Nicely made. You might catch a berbil with that, kitten." The half mocking voice whispered in his sensitive ears.  "But this is how you catch prey."  With that, the world suddenly heaved up around him with a bang, stabbing his ears and sending him reeling, staggering through the leaves.  Quick as a serpent he was tangled, and he couldn't even hear his own growls through the ringing in his ears, before darkness took him like a sharp stinging bee.  
   
~~~~  
   
He awoke to wet, warm sandpaper rasping against the curve of his ear, and Bengali shivered.  There was still a faint cottony feeling in his head from the blast and he turned his head to look in his captor's eyes.  As he did, the realization that his arms were held fast to the rough column of the tree behind him, pinned awkwardly and most uncomfortably.  
   
"Game's over." The voice purred in his ear, and Bengali scowled at the terribly amused golden eyes that met his. "You cheated." He groused, even as the grooming tongue moved down his jaw. "You were invisible."  
   
The elder Tiger laughed, coarser sun-orange fur brushing Bengali's softer white down.  "I told you age and treachery would win out. Now, about our bet."  Claws raked lightly down the blue knit of Bengali's top, the fabric separating with a whisper.  "Your guild secrets, how you reforged the Sword of Omens..."  
   
"I should've never made that stupid bet with you." The blacksmith murmured, faintly cross, belying the growl in his throat that was definitely not threatening.  "….but I made a promise."  
   
Tygra's mouth lightly covered his own for a long moment, two rough tongues twining amidst the faint scrape of sharp teeth.  "I hope you'll think first, next time." The older Tiger whispered as he pulled back, despite Bengali's disappointed mew.  "The Tiger's power lies in knowledge."  
   
The blacksmith looked away, unable to meet the languid amber eyes of his elder, even as Tygra's claws raked lightly down his front, not hard enough to injure, just enough to send him trembling against the bindings.  Bengali licked his lips, where the taste of the other Tiger remained. "Yessir." He mumbled out, feeling his nose and eartips burn pink as the rough pads of Tygra's hand slid lower, teasing.  
   
He silently cursed his abnormal coloring, that made the flush all the more apparent under the thin silk of his colorless fur, not even a proper undercoat growing in like the thick tufts brushing his chest moments before the older Tiger's teeth closed on one of Bengali's nipples, milk-pink and defenseless.  
   
Half-caught mews and growls mingled in the blacksmith's throat as Tygra's hands moved well ahead of his mouth, claws effortlessly rending the remainder of his clothes.  "Now, begin."  The elder Tiger's mellow voice cut through the fog, even as rough-soft fingers probed, seeking inside of him another prize.  
   
By the time Tygra was inside of him, shaft tearing at Bengali's, the blacksmith was already babbling out the lore of fire and metal he'd been apprenticed to since kittenhood, the secrets lost in his broken yowls.  
   
~~~~  
   
Tygra left him there, naked in the woods, still passed out from their encounter.  He'd made certain to leave the bonds loose.  If Bengali was missing for too long, the young Lord would want to go looking for him, and it wouldn't do for the lad to be found.  Better he come sneaking home on his own, as Tygra already predicted he would.  He had to admit the boy was entertaining, fire hidden in that wiry frost-furred body.   
   
Still, he hadn't quite gotten what he'd wanted.  Bengali had become incoherent, and the Guild secrets had gotten mingled with mewing pleas and ragged gasps.  
   
But there was still time to learn the rest.  He was humming by the time he slipped back into the Cat's Lair, looking forward to a long bath.  He most certainly didn't expect to find Panthro's massive shoulders blocking his door.  
   
"Can I help you?" He quirked an eyebrow in annoyance at the older Thundercat.   
   
Yellow eyes gazed down from a sleek twilight-blue coat.  "Find anything of interest in the woods, Magician?" he rumbled, his expression cold.  
   
"I'm learning new things every day, old man." Tygra snapped back, refusing to push past the warrior before him. "Knowledge is power, although you have your meditations, I suppose."  
   
"I know what you're doing with Bengali, Tygra." Panthro continued without amusement.   
   
The Tiger couldn't help but laugh sharply in response. "I'm teaching him the ways of the House of Tiger, Panthro.  In the old days, a white cub would've been sacrificed to the gods.  He should be relieved. Now, if you'll excuse me?"  
   
The Panther's shadowed bulk stepped aside without further comment, but Tygra could feel the weight of the cold yellow stare on his back.  The door slipped shut between them and he snorted his contempt to his empty rooms.  
   
~~~~  
   
The sky was shading to golden rose when Bengali had finally gotten home and cleaned up.  He was stiff, but there was an enjoyable ache to it all.  Third Earth's sun was red and swollen as it slid down behind the mountains surrounding Cat's Lair, and the blacksmith was lost in the beauty of it.  
   
"Is everything all right, Bengali?" the rumble of Panthro's voice, unexpected and close, sent him flying off his perch on the observation tower with a yowl.  He wheeled around, embarrassed.  
   
"P..Panthro!  I didn't hear you.. I'm.." he trailed off, ashamed he hadn't heard the Panther's arrival.  "Don't apologize, lad.  I don't expect you to have heard my approach."  
   
Unspoken was the added thought "because you're not a Thundercat."  Bengali heard the silent words hang in the space between them.  Despite the young Lord's anointing them as such.. himself.. Pumyra the medic, and old Lynxo… they weren't.  The three of them had just been lucky.  Insanely, unbelievably, lucky.  
   
Thundera had died, along with thousands of their people.  It had been ensured that the Lord would survive, the holy will of the Omens, and his court.  But the commonfolk had not been allowed near the ports by the military until the Lord's ship was well away.  
   
And by then, it had been almost too late.  Bengali's Guildmaster had forced the hammer upon him, their only relic, and shoved him on the battered short-jump ship with a pack of other frightened refugees.  
   
Of them, only they three had survived the journey.. the crash.  Bengali shook his head, not wanting to think about it and looked up into the Panther's face.  "I'm sorry, Panthro.  Woolgathering."  He gave him a quick smile.  "What can I do for you, sir?"  
   
The Panther rested a shadow-dark paw on Bengali's shoulder that felt as though it could be made of silk-covered granite.  "The Snarf finished preparing the evening meal, and I thought you might be hungry. You've been out all day, haven't you?"  
   
Bengali felt the flush creep back on his eartips, and hoped Panthro wouldn't notice.  Tygra was a lord of Tiger, and the fact that he had been consorting with him earlier was almost as inexplicable to Bengali as Panthro seeking him out for dinner.  "Yessir.  And you're right. I am hungry!"  
   
"Good.  Later on, I need some assistance in the vehicle bay.  The tank threw a tread coming back from the last sortie with the mutants, and I could use an extra set of paws."  Panthro added genially, turning from the young Tiger.  Bengali's shoulder tingled where the weight of Panthro's hand had lain, and he just nodded in response.  
   
He'd heard stories about the Panthers, with their ascetic lives and dedication to their Way.  But walking next to Panthro on the way to the Hall, he understood why the great Cat was a member of the Elite, why he was chosen to serve the Lords.  The sense of security the old Panther radiated was almost a physical thing, warm and solid as Panthro himself.  
   
Even though Bengali had the wiry hardness of years of smithy, he felt like a ball of fluff next to the Panther.  It was a humbling experience, to be certain.  But not altogether an unpleasant one.  
   
He realized he must've been smiling to himself when they entered the Hall, and Tygra fixed him with a cold, assessing gaze.  Unconsciously, Bengali took a step away from Panthro before finding his seat next to Pumyra and Lynxo.  The pretty medic was chatting softly with one of the Twins, and the old Cat on his other side was silent in contemplation of the cup of beef tea he was sipping.   
   
As the Snarf served them, bringing out roast meats stuffed with dried fruit, Bengali couldn't help but watch the head of the table, as the Elite joked with the young Lord.  Tygra teased him about taking a mate, and how lucky he was that three of the most beautiful women in Thundera were present for him to choose.  Cheetara, in turn, threatened him with her fork.  
   
It was the warm and friendly teasing of long-standing comrades in arms, but Bengali couldn't shake the strange, squirmy feeling in his stomach when Tygra looked in his direction, seemingly right through him.  He poked absently at the food before him, when the aged Lynx turned his sightless eyes on him.  
   
"You're playing a game you're not prepared for." He said in quiet gravel tones.  "You don't even realize what you're doing, kitten."  Bengali stared at him.  The old cat had been some sort of mystic on the Homeworld, and had lost his sight in a desperate attempt to save them all when the battered little jump-ship had been attacked on the way to the refuge of Third Earth.  "The Omens have already decided our fates."  
   
Bengali had no doubts that Lynxo was a brave and noble fellow.  But he also thought he was cracked from tip to hilt, and nothing would reforge his mind into a stable whole.  "Game. Omens. Right."  He said without much enthusiasm.  He picked at his food, occasionally looking over to find Lynxo's blind, scarred face staring at him.  "Thank you for the warning, Elder." He finally murmured, his appetite completely gone.  "Omens bless you."  
   
As the Snarf scurried back out to clear the dishes at meal's end, the Lord of Tiger brushed past him on exit. "We need to finish our conversation, kitten.  Come to me later." He said softly, without seeming to speak to him at all, and when Bengali looked up to speak, he found himself instead looking at Panthro.  
   
"Come on, Bengali. You promised to help me with the tank, remember?"  The young Tiger nodded, gathering up his dishes with nervous hands as the Snarf tried to wrest them from him.  
   
"Snarf! Let go! Snarf!!"  The small creature looked up at him with irritation in it's round orange eyes.  "That's a Snarf's job, young sir, now.. LET… GO!!!"  Bengali let go of the dishes, hands falling chastised to his sides, as the Snarf went tumbling head over heels with them, crockery clattering on the floor.  
   
"Those silly, clumsy creatures."  One of the Twins laughed as they exited.  Bengali could never tell which one was which with their sexless grace.  "Why do we keep them around?" the other continued lightly, passing Bengali in the doorway.   
   
"Snarf, I'm sorry.. can I help?"  He stammered out, not wanting to keep the Lord of Panther waiting, but……  
   
"Snarf. It's alright, Bengali." One scaled-furry paw patted Bengali's as he helped the Snarf to it's feet.  "Now run along."  The Tiger watched as the creatures scurried to gather up the fallen pieces of dishware until Panthro's hand came to rest with surprising lightness on his shoulder.  
   
"Come on, then, lad. We've our own work to do."  But the yellow eyes were kind.  
   
~~~~~  
   
There was a steady undercurrent of sound in the vehicle bay.  The constant hum of generators  and the buzz of the overhead lighting would be occasionally spiked by the roar of thundrillum turbochargers or the metronome clang/hiss/bang of repairs.  
   
Of any place in the Cat's Lair, it was where Bengali felt the most at home.   
   
Sparks from the plasma welder pinged against his face shield as he cut away the damaged tread from the tank, Panthro balancing the new one to set in its place.   
   
Beneath the shield, his mouth hung open trying to dissipate the growing heat from the cutters.  "Be done in just a second, Panthro." He shouted over the screeching plasma flame.   
   
"It's alright, Bengali, take your time.  Wouldn't your hammer have done this quicker though?"  Panthro's voice was such a low rumble as to be almost a subvocalization.  But the words startled the blacksmith, the cutter suddenly fumbling in his hands and clattering to the floor.  
   
Bengali yowled, shaking his hand as the flame brushed it, then hurriedly tried to shut the cutters off before they lit something else on fire.  Panthro beat him to it, somehow setting down the massive tread section and disengaging the tool at the same time.  "Bengali.. are you alright??"  
   
The young Tiger flipped up his visor, panting from heat and adrenaline, and stuck the back of his hand in his mouth.  "Mrph."  The smell of scorched fur filled the room and he looked at the blackened streak against the thin white fur of his paw.  "Damnit."  
   
Panthro's great shadow-blue hands cupped Bengali's, small as a newborn's by comparison, and immediately brought it to his lips, dark tongue gently lapping the burn.  The Tiger's pale eyes blinked, a soft purr rising unbidden in his chest as he felt his ears go hot.  "P..P..an.."  
   
The yellow eyes looked slowly up from his hand to meet Bengali's eyes for a moment.  "Are you alright, lad?"  Bengali blinked again. Repeatedly, and felt like he might possibly fall over from all the blood rushing out of vital parts of his brain.  
   
"I.. I.. I.. "  Panthro's tongue resumed it's gentle rasp and Bengali put his free hand back on the tank to steady himself as the Panther soothed his burn.  "I think I need to sit down." He finally was able to squeak out.  
   
"It doesn't seem that severe."  Panthro said with what Bengali thought might have been the slightest hint of amusement.  "I thought you were made of sterner stuff than that."  Kitten-blue eyes narrowed slightly. Panthro WAS teasing him. He was certain of it.  
   
He couldn't help rise to the bait though.  "I am! I am.  Just.. it's just warm in here, that's all."  He laughed nervously, and moved to flip his visor back down to finish when he realized Panthro still had his hand enveloped in his own.   
   
The Panther gave him a wry smile and released the small white paw.  "Well, then, Maker. Let's finish this and get out of the heat."  
   
~~~~~  
   
It was well past ten in the evening when they finished the repairs and Bengali was exhausted and jittery and nervous and happier than he could remember being in quite some time.  It had been too long since he'd just worked in companionable concert with someone else.  
   
And the Panther….  He turned pink at the remembrance of Panthro's gentle ministrations, until another memory kicked in. "Come to me."  
   
Tygra.  
   
He frowned, picking idly at the singed fur as he walked.  Tygra still had the hammer.  Tygra wanted to continue their… conversation.  
   
The shiver that suddenly tingled to Bengali's tailbone wasn't one of pleasant anticipation.  
   
~~~~~~~~~  
   
The suite of rooms was surprisingly spare.  To Bengali's mind, Sorcerers lived in luxurious towers crammed with exotic oddities.  
   
At the very least, he would've expected a pickled head-of-something staring out at him with blank eyes from a jar of putrescent liquid.  
   
Instead, he was greeted by a space where everything had its place. Where everything knew its place.   
   
The Lord of Tiger was seated at his worktable, surrounded by a neat collection of tools and books.  The hammer rested in a holder beneath a magnifying lens.  He didn't even look up when Bengali entered, and it was several long minutes before he acknowledged him with "You're rather late."  A thin night-robe was draped over perfect charcoal-striped amber fur, highlighting the Tiger's sleek body.  
   
A perfect Tiger.  
   
"Panthro needed help repairing the tank." The young Tiger couldn't help feeling a little proud. "It took a hit when he and the Twins had a tumble with the Mutants earlier today."  
   
There was another long, deeply uncomfortable silence, until Tygra turned around on his stool, amber eyes lidded heavy.  "Your duties to your house come first." He said coolly.  "The first circle should never be compromised."  Tygra steepled long-clawed fingers as he regarded Bengali.  
   
The blacksmith started to stammer out an apology, but Tygra stopped him, springing off the stool in a sleek solar blur, catching Bengali's singed paw, and pressing him against one of the sleek, translucent columns in the room. "You burned yourself?  Your mastery of fire is incomplete, then, kitten?"  
   
"The torch slipped."  Bengali yanked his paw back, suddenly more irritated than anything else.  "You talk.. you talk about my duty to Tiger.. but I was abandoned to the Guild because of my coloring.  I was an ill Omen."  He pressed back against the column to try and gain some distance between them, but the words kept coming out.  "Why should I have ANYTHING to do with Tiger?"  
   
Tygra regarded him for a moment, before resting his hands on the column, on either side of Bengali's head.  "You're right, kitten." He purred.  "There are so many things that we need to… change… for the day when our scattered people are reunited.  I want you to be prepared to take your rightful place."  These last words were a faint whisper of Tygra's breath on Bengali's pale lips.  "We're helping each other in the Spirit of Liono's vision of a New Thundera… you teach me… and I will teach… you."  Claws scraped lightly down the glassine column before Tygra's hands closed on Bengali's upper arms.   
   
Bengali didn't want to look at him, staring fixedly at the floor until the older Tiger's mouth closed lightly over his, sandpaper-tongue coaxing his own.  "Tygra… " he finally freed himself and pushed the magician back.  "…I don't want to finish our …conversation right now.  I'm tired.  I just want to go back to my room.  And I want the hammer back."  He didn't realize how dry his mouth was until he finished speaking, and he was braced for any possible reaction.  
   
Except the one he got.  
   
"Of course. It IS late, isn't it?"  Tygra demurred.  "I hope you will allow me to study the hammer further.  It's not every day that I get to see one of the Relics.  Before you go, though, let me get you something for that paw."  He turned with a rustle of light robes to his workshelves, retrieving a silver jar.  "Hold out your hand, kitten."  
   
Bengali's hand was out, automatically, before he could question it, and Tygra smoothed some cool cream on it.  "I was.. I was going to have Pumyra look it over tomorrow.." he stuttered, his resolve deflated in the face of Tygra's unexpected kindness.  
   
"No offense to your friend, but Tiger has always utilized it's own means."  He pressed down on the scorched spot, making Bengali yelp.  "Good night, Bengali."  
   
Unsure of what else to say, the blacksmith grabbed the hammer off of the table and retreated as quickly as he could.  
   
Tygra waited until the door slid shut until he allowed himself a satisfied smile.  
   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
   
He was four years old.  
   
The Guildmaster led him down a long corridor that smelled like burning steel and charred meat, the old Puma's scarred hand holding his small white one firmly.  "I don't like it here."  He said, voice tiny in the big, dark place.  "Master.. I wanna go back…"  
   
Felisand of Puma, Master of the Makers Guild, looked down on him with a mix of irritation and vague amusement.  "We will go home afterwards, Bengali." He said gently, the frown on his sleek buff-amber furred face easing.  "We're going to see something special, remember?"  
   
"But it's stinky."  Bengali pouted, but hurried to keep pace with the old Puma.  "It's stinky and dark and..and.. stinky."  He got a pat on the head from the Master's free paw for his troubles.  
   
"It's the smell of fire, kitten.  What creates, can also destroy."  Felisand uttered seriously, pushing open the massive iron doors before them.  The room that opened up before them was dark as well, with the same harsh odor.  But in the center, in a column of reflected sunlight carefully channeled into this darkest of places in Thundera's bowels, was a rusty metal cylinder, taller than Bengali.  
   
The room was also filled with other Thunderians, clad in the same smoky tan robes that Felisand was wearing, different from his normal coveralls.  
   
"This is the special thing I was talking about, Bengali."  The Master gestured to the column, and Bengali approached it warily.   
   
"It's all rusty." He muttered, disappointed.  "It doesn't look very special."  At that, the Master laughed, and lifted him up, to see the thing on top of it.  
   
A hammer.  Worked in strange, sparkly metal and swirling with beautiful cats.  Bengali leaned forward without thinking, not realizing the strange quiet that had overtaken the room. "It's pretty!!" He laughed brightly, closing tiny white paws around it's shimmering handle.  "Is this the special thing, master?"  he asked, hopeful that it was, and not the stupid old rusty thing.  
   
"It is.  Pick it up, Bengali." Felisand gently urged, some concern tight around his amber eyes, that only grew as the child did.   
   
"It's not so heavy.."  He struggled with it, but finally clutched it to his chest.  "Can I have it?"  He met the Master's eyes, even more hopeful.  
   
"When you're older, Bengali." He said indulgently, smoothing Bengali's unruly white mane as the rest of the Guildsmembers seemed to exhale collectively. "Now put it back, and we'll go home and you can have a treat, alright?"  
   
"Why's it a special thing, Master?" The child curled up in the old Puma's arms as he turned away, and the others began to murmur. "You've got lots of hammers.."  
   
"What creates, can also destroy, Bengali. Remember?  I'll tell you when you're a little older.  Now.  Do you want Snarf to make custard when we get home?"  
   
He was fifteen and Master was shoving him onto a jumpship, his half-blind old face full of sadness as he pressed the hammer into Bengali's hands.  There was so much noise, explosions rocking the port, that he never heard the elder's final words as the ship's door slid shut.  He would'n'tve heard them anyways, because he was screaming the old Puma's name until his voice gave in.  
   
Bengali sat up, panting, tangled in the sheets in the little room he'd claimed as his own.  His hand itched and burned, and he stuck it in his mouth absently as he drew his knees up, pale eyes almost black from his pupils widening to take in the dim light filtering in through the window above.  The salve Tygra had applied had a bittersweet taste to it.  
   
"Omens. Gah."  He muttered, his throat parched.  In the dim moonlight, the hammer twinkled innocently.  He gave it a sour look.  
   
(A special thing.)  It was one of the Relics of the Omens, Master had taught him.  There had been five that the Omens had given the Ancients to build their world.  The Sword.  The Quill.  The Hammer.  The Mirror.  The Plow.  Each had represented necessities of life the Ancients needed to survive, and each had developed a Guild to follow it's precepts so that all Thundera would prosper.  The Warriors.  The Scholars.  The Makers.  The Magicians.  The Growers.  
   
They had once been equal.  But that had been when all the Relics were still present.  In time, all had been lost except for the Sword, by which the House of Lion ruled, and the Hammer, which the Makers had hidden away.   
   
Common schoolbook knowledge.  He slid off his bed and padded over to the hammer, turning it's shimmering weight over in his hands.  Even the Master hadn't known what it was made of, the same arcane material the Sword of Omens was forged from.  The only thing that could repair the Sword when Liono had shattered the blade in a battle.  It contained it's own energies, becoming almost like a forge in which the impossible could be created.  
   
He was starting to think like a Magician.  
   
Bengali shook his head with a snort and set it down.  Sleep wasn't going to be returning with all these thoughts colliding in his head.  He pulled on a pair of shorts and a pullover and padded out in the hallway.  There was always at least one of the Snarf up late, maybe he could beg a late-night snack out of them.  
   
The Lair's corridors were set on nightmode, the lights soft to avoid jarring sensitive eyes.  Bengali padded towards the kitchen, absently licking his hand when he passed the doorway to the gardens.  He paused, catching glimpse of something moving in the darkness.  
   
Curious, Bengali pushed the door open, ears pricking at the faintest of sounds.  A breeze ruffled the broad-leaved plants, skittering leaves across the smooth stones.  A churrabird hooted, and he could feel the fur on the back of his neck start to prickle.  He took a few steps out onto the cool surface of the courtyard, as the breeze slid across his thin fur.   
   
He was aware of the presence behind him a moment too late, crying out against a massive paw clamped across his mouth, a solid warmth materializing behind him.  "Bengali?"  The deep voice rumbled in his ear as the hand relaxed on his mouth.  "Don't scream. It's only me."  
   
The Tiger looked at the sleek-muscled shadow-dark arms encircling him and found himself sagging back against the Panther in relief.  "I saw something out here.." he whispered, not ready to turn around and look Panthro in the eye just yet.   
   
"I was doing my exercises and meditations.  I find it very peaceful here at night."  The Panther's voice vibrated softly against him.  "What are you doing up?"  
   
"Couldn't sleep.  I had some whacky dreams."  Bengali murmured, looking up at the battered silver disk of the moon shining above.  "I'm.. sorry.. I didn't mean to disturb you.." He started to turn, to face Panthro, but the great paws held him in place without seeming to exert themselves.  
   
"It's alright, Bengali.  I enjoy your company."  Panthro's nose nuzzled against the young Tiger's ear reassuringly, sending a ripple of shivers down Bengali's spine.  "I would ease your troubled spirit."  
   
Bengali wondered at that last statement, relaxing in the gentle, solid embrace.  "Panthro…"  He started as the Lord of Panther's sandpaper tongue rasped lightly over the sensitive place behind one of his ears.  "…you're very… kind…" he found himself stammering.  Despite the cool breeze he felt as if his whole body must be as pink and hot as his ears could get.   
   
"You've got a good heart, Bengali…"  The Panther replied, one paw sliding across Bengali's chest to feel his heart pounding.  The Tiger brought a trembling white hand to touch Panthro's.  "I would ease your troubles, if you'll allow it."  
   
The blacksmith blinked, the meaning becoming clear suddenly.  The famed Panther indirectness opening into clarity that shivered down his spine and settled, pleasantly, in the pit of his stomach.  "Please…" he mewed softly.  "I.. I would like that, very much."  
   
The gentle, inexorable grip loosened and he turned in the shelter of Panthro's arms, looking up into the old Panther's serene yellow gaze.  He felt like he should say something else, apologize, something, until the Panther kissed him, slowly stealing his breath in an unhurried exploration that left Bengali boneless as a kitten when it was completed.  
   
In the shadows of the garden, Panthro eased off Bengali's light pullover, dusky pink tongue tracing the lines of white fur made luminescent in the moonlight.  The young Tiger panted softly, white paws clutching at the Panther's light robe, feeling the silk-granite muscles beneath.  Words were lost in the shiver of night air in the wake of warm, damp caresses.  His worn khaki shorts slipped to the flagstones, shadow-blue paws following them, stroking Bengali's hips.  "You're beautiful, child."  The old Panther murmured, gently guiding the blacksmith down to a soft, mossy place.  "Moonlight made flesh and fur."  
   
Bengali's mouth worked in a silent reply as the Panther's tongue rasped down his abdomen.  Panthro's massive shoulders were as dark as the sky above, limned in faint silver, and the Tiger started to feel as if Night itself was embracing him, one paw sliding further down to stroke his embarrassingly aroused shaft.  Bengali mewed, arching to meet the touch, just as the paw traveled further back, and was replaced by a warm mouth enclosing him.  
   
The mew strangled into a cry as Panthro's sharp teeth lightly caught the sensitive tip, and fingers twice the size of Bengali's own began to tease and probe.  The Panther gave him one long taste, sandpaper swirling around him before sitting back, yellow eyes observing him.   
   
Bengali writhed on the intruding fingers stretching him with a teasing slowness. "O..Omens.. Panthro…"  The Panther only smiled faintly, using his free hand to undo the catch on his night-robe, the soft fabric slithering against his sleek dark fur.  
   
Bengali was torn, caught between wanting to look at him, to take in details marked in silver and shadow, and being too embarrassed, to caught in his own burning, guilty pleasure to.  He'd felt Panthro's hardness.. his heat against him as they kissed.  As Panthro gathered him up in his arms, Bengali found the nerve to touch him in return.  
   
"Don't be afraid, kitten.." the Panther rumbled softly, a growling purr thrumming against Bengali, shivering his bones.  "You can touch me."  He guided the small silver hands in their tentative exploration, until Bengali grew bolder.  The Tiger shivered as Panthro's mouth closed on the knot of muscle where his shoulder met his neck.   
   
Bengali sighed in submission as Panthro's teeth didn't quite break the skin, paws tightening on the Panther's shaft.  Some part of his brain noted wryly that everything about the Lord of Panther was massive and hard as stone covered in silk.  He almost started to giggle at that until he was straddling Panthro's lap, and the kneeling Panther impaled him with the same torturous slowness as he'd teased him with.   
   
The blacksmith started to squirm with sudden irrational fear that the Panther was too big, that he'd be torn apart, but Panthro gentled him, and eased Bengali down until the fearful mews had turned into needy ones, the Tiger's long legs wrapping around him, and his wiry arms tightening about his neck.  
   
"Light as snow you are, child." The old Panther laughed, paws corseting Bengali's waist as he moved for them both.  Under the gentle amusement was a growing breathlessness that even the Tiger could hear as he squirmed and cried.  
   
(Omens…Please don't stop please shut up don't stop please)  Bengali buried his face in Panthro's short, silken coat, claws digging into the shadow-blue flesh.  His own erection was sliding against the Panther's hard stomach, the short fur rasping against the hypersensitive pink-white shaft.  The musk filling his nose and the delicious friction made his head swim, the world defined to the places their bodies met, and even the chill ripple of breeze through his hair unnoticed.  
   
The Panther was growling, the rumble rising from his core and thrilling like a shiver through Bengali's bones as he drove into the young Tiger with increasing speed.  Bengali's own cries had become a babble of whispered prayers and breaking yowls.  He didn't want it to end. (Not yet, please, not yet)  
   
He didn't want it to end, but when the Panther thrust into him one final time, hard enough to almost rattle his teeth and roared in release, there wasn't anything Bengali could do but be carried with it.  
   
The blinding light behind his eyes mellowed into a soft grey haze, and it wasn't until much later that he awoke to realize Panthro had brought him back to his room, sheets carefully draped around his naked form.  
   
If it wasn't for the glorious ache seemingly in every cell of his body, Bengali would've thought it was a dream chased away by the pink morning light poking it's nose into his room.  
   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
   
He took extra long getting up, lingering in the scrubbing sand.  The fine golden grains reminding him of the tongue that had so carefully groomed him.  Bengali felt giddy, like the kitten everyone seemed to think he was.  
   
He leaned his head back on the edge of the tub, eyes closed as he rubbed the sand into his fur.  Each rasp brought the previous night back a little more until a gentle throat clearing startled him to look up into a pair of round orange eyes.   
   
"Snarf."  
   
Bengali scrambled upright, diving for the brush to dust the sand away, trying to hide the burgeoning erection he was developing, and still make eye contact with the Snarf waiting patiently.  
   
He was unsuccessful in all three things.  
   
"Snaaarf.  Bengali, are you alright?"  It was the eldest Snarf, Liono's nurse.  It's kind orange eyes were heavily marked with wrinkles, and it had an unflappable expression on it's face.   
   
"Fine! I'm .. I'm Fine."  Bengali said a little too loudly and a little too quickly.  The Snarf just nodded.  
   
"Liono wants to see everyone immediately in the meeting room, snarf."  It wagged a scaly finger at him.  "You might want to put some clothes on first, though. Snaaaarf."   
   
He was certain the Snarf was laughing at him.  
   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
   
"I've received word from Willa of the Amazonians that the dam the robears built for them some seasons back is in danger of failing.  If the valley floods, the Amazonians will be without a home, and vulnerable to Mummra and his mutant forces."  The young Lion had obviously been practicing his speech before he gave it to the assembly, Bengali thought idly, trying very hard not to look like he was looking at the Lord of Panther any differently than he had before.  
   
And trying not to look at Tygra at all.  
   
Instead, he leaned nonchalantly on the table, more watching Liono's brilliant scarlet mane bob up and down than he actually was listening until he heard his name.  
   
"..li…and Tygra will accompany me.  If anyone can figure out the best way to repair the dam's structure, It's going to be you two."  The Lord of Tiger nodded at Liono like a teacher praising a star pupil.   
   
"I think that's an excellent idea, Liono." He said indulgently, before casting a cool amber gaze at Bengali.  "And Bengali's an excellent craftsman.  He should be able to affect any repairs I need."  
   
The blacksmith was confused.  He was by no means a structural engineer.  (True, the hammer could probably.. but…) He kept his mouth firmly clamped shut until he bowed.  "It'd be an honor, sire.  Whatever I can do." He couldn't bring himself to correct his superiors, especially with everyone present.  
   
For a moment, Liono looked like the little boy he actually was, and the young king raised his fist triumphantly. "Great! Thundercats, Ho!"  His salute was returned by everyone, but one white paw was raised slower than the others.  
   
He couldn't make himself meet the gaze he felt Panthro giving him.  
~~~~~~~~~  
   
He hated flying.  His first experience in a flying craft had been in the jumpship that had taken him away from dying Thundera, and Bengali had never been able to shake the terror that accompanied getting into any craft that flew since then.  
   
"Geeze, Bengali.. you look white as a sheet."  The young King teased.  They were roughly the same age, but the Lord of Lion was almost twice his mass, muscles shifting under his tawny-gold coat.   
   
The blacksmith didn't bother to answer, clawed fingers digging tight into the cushioned arms of his seat, staring fixedly at some small scuff on the floor.  
   
"Hang on you two.. there's a bit of turbulence ahead." Came Tygra's voice from the cockpit, a moment before the Feliner dipped, and suddenly Bengali's stomach was up around his ears.  
   
The young King whooped as the plane shook then leveled out.  "Damn, that was good!" he laughed, before patting Bengali on the shoulder.  "Come on, Tiger.  Take a deep breath."  He said good-naturedly.  "You're looking more green than white!"  
   
In response, the Tiger threw up in a thoughtfully placed receptacle.  
   
~~~~~~~~~~  
   
"Liono! Well met Lord of Cats!"  The female was almost as tall as Liono, and largely hairless, except for a luxuriant black mane festooned with bright flowers.  "It's been too long since you visited us!"  
   
Bengali blinked, staring, then looked at Liono and Tygra, then back at the female and her companions.  The Lord of Tiger gave him an indulgent, lazy smile.  "Willa and her people call themselves 'Humans', Bengali.  We are similar, and not so similar, although they've not deigned to let me dissect any of their dead to ascertain the depth of that difference."  He whispered moments before Willa descended on him with an embrace.  
   
"Tygra, well met.  But I don't think I've met your young friend…"  She chucked Bengali under the chin and he startled like a snarf on a hot tin roof.  "He's adorable.  What a shame we can't breed together. What lovely children he'd produce…"  
   
Bengali felt his eartips bypass pink altogether and go straight into dark red.  Tygra put a companionable arm around him. "Well we're sure someone as young and desirable as Bengali will have no difficulty finding more than one willing mate…"  
   
And the Tiger and the Amazonian laughed, and with that, Willa turned on Liono in a flurry of fringe and flowers.  "So, dear Lion-lord. What brings you to our home?"  
   
The young King's golden eyes grew palpably confused.  "Willa… isn't there a problem with the dam?"  
   
"Why, no.  Berbil construction is nigh infallible, young Lord."  Willa rested graceful brown hands on her hips.  "What would make you think our dam is faulty?"  
   
"But… I.. "  Liono floundered and Bengali felt a chill run through his spine.  "Lady… if you didn't call Liono, then who……?"  
   
His answer came in the form of the sudden whine of hover-engines and an earsplitting explosion that sent the Amazonian's tree-top city careening wildly.  
   
"We're under attack!!!"  Liono roared.  "It was a mutant trick!!"  He unsheathed the Sword and started to clamber to the rooftops, even as the city shook under the barrage.  
   
"Bengali! Come with me!! We have to protect the dam!!"  Tygra shouted over the din, the young blacksmith automatically running after him.  "It's a setup!"  
   
"Tygra, I'm just a craftsman, I can't…"  Bengali panted as they raced along a branchway to the dam.  
   
"Use the hammer, Bengali… it's going to be our only chance."  The older Tiger dropped beside him.  "The legends about it's magic…"  
   
Up above, there was a bright wink in the sky as Bengali loosed it from his belt.  The bright spot became a mutant hovercraft bearing a slimy toad-like creature in the next heartbeat, screaming down on them.  
   
There was a sudden, lancing pain in the back of Bengali's head, and the last thing he heard in the growing blackness, the hammer slipping from nerveless fingers, was Tygra's calm voice over the howl of the mutant's engines throttling down.  
   
"Help.  Oh, help…… it's no use.. they've taken him…but at least they didn't get the hammer.. filthy… mutant… scum.."  
   



End file.
